


Ninety Percent

by aye_of_newt



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, OCs used as props to move the plot, Post-Canon, brief and non-graphic suicide imagery, i did get a little excited with the f-bombs in one section so language warning for that, recovery is non-linear, there's at least a little hope at the end, very brief drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: Zoe connects more with her brother in death than she ever did in life.





	Ninety Percent

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this as somewhat of a sequel to my work "Found". BUT you really don't have to have read it to understand what's happening here. (This one is better in my opinion anyway.)
> 
> This story has been in the works for like a year (as in I wrote a few paragraphs of it a year ago...and then let it sit for months before writing a few more paragraphs...and repeat) As long as it's taken me I think it's worth it. True, it's a little dramatic/cheesy but all the same, I am actually pretty happy with this story and I hope that you find it enjoyable. Or at the very least, somewhat believable.   
> Thank you for taking the time to read it.

The boxes marked “Connor” were piled in a corner of the basement. The move had helped, but no one was ready to get rid of anything that had been his, not yet. Cynthia had mentioned donating some of it to charity a few times, but had never taken the steps to do so.They were still holding on to just about everything that Connor had owned, keeping it tucked away in storage, set aside from the rest of the regular junk kept in basements. It had felt too disrespectful to mix his belongings in with the Christmas lights and unused baking trays, so Larry had assembled a little shelf off to one side to keep Connor’s things safe. 

While his room was the last thing to be packed away, his boxes were the first to be unloaded. They went straight from the truck to the shelf and the Murphys hadn’t touched them since. They skirted around the shelf, barely looking at it on the way to grab laundry or a can of peaches. Dr. Miller thought that it sounded like a step back, but it was all they could handle for now.

***

 

It took Zoe three tries to open the first box. The first time she had only managed to get about four feet from the shelf before freezing. She stared at the labels her mother drew, the black sharpie in stark contrast to the white cardboard. After standing there for nearly a full minute, unmoving, she turned sharply and bolted back up the stairs. 

A week later she was back, standing in the same spot once again, staring at what was left of her brother. That time she managed to force herself to take the few steps forward, getting close enough that she could reach out and touch one of the boxes. She glanced at the label,  _ Connor’s clothes.  _ Her hand ghosted slowly over the top, leaving shallow trails in the dust that had formed. Her fingers closed slowly around the edge of the lid. For a moment she paused and, taking a deep breath, was about to continue when her mother called from upstairs. Zoe’s hand jerked away. 

“Coming!” she shouted, backing away quickly. She rushed out of the basement, snagging a can of pineapple on her way as an excuse. 

The third time she made sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. Larry and Cynthia were at their support group for parents who lost a child to suicide. They were always hesitant to leave her alone for too long, but Zoe promised to call Alana if she needed anything. She watched her parents car turn off their street and then waited an extra five minutes to be safe. When her watch finally ticked past the mark Zoe made her way downstairs in long, determined steps. She faltered for a moment when the boxes came to view but pressed on, marching up to the shelf and quickly pulling the lid off the box she had tried to open a few days before.  _ Like ripping off a bandaid,  _ Zoe thought. 

Stacks of neatly folded t-shirts stared up at her. Zoe caught a small whiff of dust before she quickly replaced the lid. Not in that one. Stealing herself, she moved on to the next box. Jeans and sweaters. That lid was replaced quickly too. Zoe was about to reach for the third cover when her ring slipped off. Her hands were sweating more than she realized. Wiping her palms on her jeans, Zoe knelt down to retrieve it. She was about to straighten up when she noticed a box set on the floor, tucked back under the lowest level of the shelf. It was angled away from her, like something had run into in and pushed it back. Carefully stretching her arm under the shelf, Zoe pulled the box straight, squinting at the label.  _ Connor’s shoes.  _

Zoe stopped, breathed, and then slowly dragged the box toward her, wincing at the loud scraping noise it made against the cement floor. She carefully lifted the lid and there they were, half buried under ratty sneakers and a pair of pristine cleats. 

 

The memory had surfaced a few days after Connor’s death, when Zoe was staring at his note, at  _ Evan’s  _ note, reading that daming line again and again as the guilt began to wrap its hand around her throat.  _  All my hope is pinned on Zoe...Maybe if I could just talk to her...if I could just talk to her...just talk to her. _ She had suddenly remembered in sickening clarity that day in late August, and nearly collapsed at the thought that Connor had been trying to let her know him. 

 

_ She had been in a bad mood, and was nursing a headache over some stupid thing Zoe couldn’t even remember now. It was a matter of bad timing that her brother walked into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy and loud on the hardwood floor. _

_ “Oh my god, Connor. Why do you wear those stupid boots all the time?” People already thought he was a freak, he didn’t have to prove them right by dressing like one. It was August and he was indoors. At home. Those shoes were not necessary.  _

_ He looked down at his feet, almost self-consciously, before becoming Connor again. “They make me look like a badass,” he deadpanned. At Zoe’s incredulous look he added, “ninety percent of being a badass is the boots.”  _

_ He had smirked at her a little, and Zoe rolled her eyes snapping at him as she stood, “Don’t let Dad see you high. Again.”  _

_ She remembered now the way his face had fallen slightly at her comment. Zoe wished desperately to go back to that moment and say anything else. But that day, she had just brushed past him, her shoulder bumping against his arm as she left the kitchen. _

_ “I’m not freaking high!” Connor had shouted behind her.  _

_ Yeah, whatever.” Zoe had called back, not believing him. Though now she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. After all, Connor had hardly ever attempted to cover up his drug use, at least with pot. And if it had been something else he wouldn’t have been that relaxed. Maybe it had just been so long since Connor had actually joked about something that Zoe forgot what it was like.  _

_ That was the last real conversation she had with him. _

_ Connor was dead a week later. _

 

After learning the truth Zoe had tried to push the memory down, telling herself it wasn’t her fault after all. But it refused to fade. _Connor’s face, so strangely engaged_ , looked at her in her dreams, _his disappointed expression hovering longer than the brief second it had actually lasted, transforming to hurt as he turned away and stepped toward the chair-_

Zoe always woke before he could reach it but that didn’t matter. She had seen how it ended in person. Accepting that the haunting wouldn’t stop on its own, Zoe realized she had to do something to make it up to him. If she couldn’t save him from his isolation in life than she would in death.

The last month had been spent working towards this moment. She carefully pushed the other shoes out of the way and grabbed the top of the boots, pulling them free. The thick soles clunked together loudly and Zoe jumped in surprise. They were a lot heavier than she was expecting. Suddenly guilty, Zoe stuffed the lid back on the box and shoved it back under the shelf. Tucking the boots under one arm, she rushed back upstairs to her room. 

***

Closing the door behind her, Zoe carefully placed the boots on her desk, sinking onto the bed across from them. An hour later she was still sitting there, staring at the shoes, when she heard the front door open. 

“Zoe?” her mother called. A moment later Cynthia’s footsteps could be heard down the hallway, approaching Zoe’s room. Scrambling for the boots, Zoe just managed to stuff them in her closet when her bedroom door opened. 

“Hey, Mom. Sorry, I was just...talking to Alana.”

“Oh, honey, you didn’t have to hang up. I want you to talk to your friends.” Cynthia smiled at her daughter, looking a little teary-eyed. She always did after coming home from group. The next few hours she would spend fussing over Zoe, more so than usual. Cynthia claimed that group made her better. Zoe thought it made her mother feel guilty. 

“It’s fine. She had to go anyway.” Zoe smiled weakly. “You know her, Alana just can’t stop. Taking summer classes and all that.”  
“Of course. I just hope she’s getting enough rest. I know, you should invite her over for dinner sometime soon. Tell her next time you talk, alright?”

“Yeah, Mom, I will.” A heavy stone of guilt was sitting in Zoe’s stomach. Her mother was so worried that Zoe wouldn’t have enough friends. She should really try harder…

“So, you hungry?” Cynthia was looking at her, smiling, trusting. “Dad and I picked up some Chinese on our way home.”

Swallowing and forcing a smile Zoe nodded, “Yeah, let’s eat.”

 

Zoe could barely focus on the discussion at dinner. She pushed her food around on her plate, her mind ficking back upstairs and to the boots stuffed behind the clothes rack. As soon as the dishes were in the sink, Zoe excused herself, claiming exhaustion. She smiled and brushed off her mother’s concern as gently as she could but it didn’t help her guilt. 

To be fair, she did go almost straight to bed, though she remained awake for a long time, staring at her closed closet door as if waiting for his ghost to walk out, demanding to know why she stole his shoes.

***

They remained buried in the back of her closet for the rest of the summer, being carefully avoided. She almost left them behind, but in a moment of impulsive courage, Zoe stuffed the boots in with her bath towels, making sure they were totally covered. Her parents hadn’t mentioned anything missing from the shelf downstairs but she didn’t want to push her luck more than she already was. 

 

Larry and Cynthia stayed to help her unpack but Zoe nervously insisted on taking care of her toiletries, glad for the excuse of privacy. They still found ways to linger, however, long after the other parents had said their goodbyes. Zoe couldn’t really find it in her to care if it made her seem pathetic. When they finally ran out of reasons to stick around, Zoe walked her parents down to their car. They stood together quietly on the sidewalk for a few minutes, watching the sun begin to dip low in the sky and trying not to cry. Or, in Cynthia’s case, trying to hide that she was already in tears.

“Well,’ Cynthia started with a shaky breath, “we should probably get going now. You have so much to do and people to meet.” Her watery smile was not quite convincing in its enthusiasm. 

“Right.” Larry choked out stiffly, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. 

“Ok. Well, um, let me know when you get home,” Zoe sounded just short of confident as she leaned in to give them a hug goodbye. With a few more pats and reassurances that she would call often and come home soon, Zoe watched as her parents got into their car and drove away. She waved until they were out of sight before turning back to her building, trying not to think of how empty the house would be when Larry and Cynthia got home. 

***

The next week was a blur of open doors and new people. Zoe found herself lost in the crowd for the first time in over two years. In some ways it was comforting to start completely over in a place where no one knew and there were no expectations. In more ways it was terrifying. For so long she had focused on the chance to be whoever she wanted. Now, Zoe didn’t know who that was. 

 

Her first day of band practice Zoe found herself pacing the few short feet of free space available in her dorm. In high school she had been one of the most talented students. But this was college. The whole class was going to be made up of first chairs. Why had she thought she would be good enough for this? Zoe sank into her chair, contemplating dropping the class before she could humiliate herself. She buried her face in her hands and stayed there for a long, silent minute. Finally, she pushed out a harsh breath through her nose, and, needing to check how much time she had left to make a decision, Zoe lifted her chin. It was then, peering between her fingers weakly that Zoe saw them. 

Neatly placed on the floor of her closet, standing solidly away from the rest of her shoes, were Connor’s boots. The conversation echoed through her head once again.  _ Well,  _ Zoe thought,  _ if there was ever a time when I could use a little badass.  _ Before she could change her mind Zoe forced herself up out of her chair and snached the boots on the floor. Quickly and without thinking she stuffed them on, turning to look in the mirror. Scruffy and ridiculously out of place with the airy purple dress she was wearing as they were, Zoe couldn’t help but feel a sense of power when she saw herself.

_ What do you know, he was right. _ Zoe went to take a step toward the door and nearly fell as her foot tried to move and the boot stayed behind. _ I really should have thought about this more. Connor’s feet are,  _ where _ , way bigger than mine.  _ Stepping carefully out of the boots Zoe crossed quickly to her dresser, pulling out some of the uncomfortable woolen socks her mother had insisted she bring. Balling them up, Zoe stuffed them into the toes of the boots. Shoving her feet back in, she laced the shoes up as tight as possible without cutting off her blood flow. Slower this time, Zoe took a few steps to try it out. Satisfied it would work, she grabbed her stuff and marched out the door and across campus to the music hall, never breaking stride for fear that if she did, she would stop.

With barely a hesitation, Zoe pushed open the door of the band room and marched in with her head held high. And promptly stopped. No one noticed. They were all milling around in groups, talking somewhat quietly to each other. Feeling the pit of nerves begin to snake in her stomach again, Zoe picked her way across the room to her section with somewhat less confidence than she had before. Not wanting to appear either full of herself or weak, Zoe picked a spot somewhat in the middle of the section and perched on the edge of her seat, trying to look busy prepping her sheet music. A moment later a voice coming from barely a foot away startled her from her concentration. 

“Is that seat taken?” The girl pointed to the chair on Zoe’s right.

Taken aback for moment by the bright hair and eyebrow ring, Zoe blinked at her for a moment before quickly stuttering out, “No. No, it’s free.” She blushed, turning back to her music, barely hearing the “Thanks,” from the stranger. She was just fading back into her head when the girl spoke again.

“Hey, nice boots.”

Zoe jumped a little, staring back at her new neighbor with wide eyes. A complex feeling of panic and gratitude overcame her as she all but whispered, “Thank you.”

The girl grinned at her again. “I’m Sam,” she stated, thrusting out a hand in Zoe’s direction, “nice to meet you.”

Smiling and beginning to relax just enough, she reached out and accepted the handshake. “Zoe. Nice to meet you too.”

Sam nodded, turning her attention to the front just as the director entered. As the rest of the students scrambled to find a seat Zoe felt a bit of her earlier tension fade, relieved at the possibility of having made at least one friend. 

***

By November Connor’s boots had become almost a security blanket to Zoe. When she was nervous, or in need of a bit of extra confidence, she would wear his shoes and feel a bit taller. But eventually, of course, people began to get curious. 

The first time someone addressed the issue was at a party some older, whatever the college equivalent of popular was, student was throwing. Zoe had been standing around with a group of band kids she vaguely knew when one of the guys asked her, “So what’s with the boots? You wear them like, all the time and there’s no way they actually fit you.”

Biting down the brief flash of panic that rose in her chest, Zoe tossed her head and gave him her best smirk. “They make me look like a badass.”

The cluster of students around her laughed and quickly moved onto another topic. Zoe felt her shoulders relax, her secret preserved for now.

“I’d say they look pretty badass-almost a much as mine are. You’ll have to let me borrow them sometime, you know, for science. See if I’m any cooler with yours on,” Sam grinned, taking a drink of her beer.

Zoe felt her fear like a punch in the stomach. Grinning shakily, she said in what she hoped was a joking tone, “Yeah, right. Like you could handle these boots.”

It must have been convincing enough, because Sam laughed and dropped the subject, dragging Zoe towards the dance floor. She let herself be pulled behind and slowly became lost in the music, but the feeling of unease lingered in the back of her mind. 

***

Two weeks later, Zoe dropped by her dorm after class to get ready for a concert Sam had managed tickets too. Wanting to look a little tougher for the rock crowd that would be there, Zoe changed into her black skinny jeans and a darker t-shirt. Scrolling lazily through her phone, she opened the door to her closet and froze. 

Connor’s boots were gone.

The panic was instant but Zoe forced herself to be rational. They must be somewhere. She dropped to her knees, digging through the bottom of her closet. But there wasn’t much to look through and it became terrifyingly clear that the boots were not there. Starting to become more frantic, Zoe tore through her room, looking in every drawer and corner, no matter how illogical. She was emptying her dresser into the floor when her phone rang. 

Zoe grabbed it, thinking wildly that whoever was on the other line might be able to help her. Glancing at the screen, she roughly jabbed the accept button, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Sam?”

“Zoe, where the hell are you? I’ve been texting you for like ten minutes. We’re going to be late.”

“Sam, I can’t find my boots. I’ve been looking for them everywhere. They’re gone.” Zoe’s voice nearly broke as she tried to control her terror. 

“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’m borrowing them tonight.”

Zoe felt her panic go suddenly cold. “What.”

“Yeah, I thought it would be kinda  _ badass _ if we switched boots tonight. I have mine with me. Just come down here in your tennies and you can change in the car.”

Shaking, Zoe hung up, unable to say a thing. In carefully controlled motions, she slipped on the old sneakers she’d worn that day and left her dorm, the door banging shut behind her. One of the girls on her wing looked up in surprise from where she was entering her room code. Zoe ignored her, stalking down the hall and all but ripping the door to the stairs off its hinges.

When she reached the sidewalk, Sam was waiting there with her friends, nearly exactly where Zoe had said goodbye to her parents that September. Not seeming to realize anything was wrong, Sam raised her hand in greeting.

“Finally, dude. Come on, we’re going to be late.” She tossed a pair of boots at Zoe. They hit her heavily in the chest, her arms coming up just in time to catch them. For a moment, Zoe looked down at them, almost stunned. Then, as if they had broken some sort of spell, her composure broke.

With a strength she hadn’t known she possessed, Zoe flug the boots back at Sam, only missing her head because Same managed to duck. 

“What the hell, Zoe?” Sam shouted as she straightened. 

“Give me back my fucking boots. Now.” Zoe’s voice was dangerously low.

“That’s what this is about? Jesus. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, ok? I will next time. Let’s just go.” She began to turn away, but Zoe caught her arm in an iron grip. 

“No. Take the boots off.”

“Fine. Whatever. But you need to chill out. They’re just a pair of shoes.” Sam rolled her eyes as she bent down to untie the laces.

Zoe felt rage open from her chest like she had never experienced before. “No! No, they are fucking not ‘just a pair of shoes’. They belonged to  _ Connor _ !” She was rapidly losing control but couldn’t manage to bring herself back in now. Dimly, a part of her mind whispered that she was letting the secret out, but Zoe ignored it.

Sam was staring at her now, looking a Zoe like she had lost her mind, “Who the hell is Connor?”

“My fucking brother!” Zoe screamed, “My fucking brother, who fucking killed himself!” Her throat felt raw from the force of her scream and her secret. 

Sam and the rest of the group was frozen, staring at her with huge eyes. Zoe felt tears begin to prick. “So please,” she rasped, “just give me back the fucking boots.”

Sam jerked into action, unlacing the boots and pulling them off, barely keeping her balance in the rush. She held them out to Zoe with shaking hands, whispering, “Oh my god, Zoe, I am so sorry. I-”

She cut off when Zoe yanked the shoes from her hand. Standing there in stocking feet, her arm still outstretched, and tears in her eyes, Sam looked more pathetic than villainous. But Zoe couldn’t bring herself to care. She brought Connor’s boots close to her chest, wrapping them in a tight hug.

“Don’t fucking talk to me again,” she choked out and turned her back. Walking away, Zoe could feel their eyes on her, but no one spoke. 

In her dorm, Zoe curled up on her bed, and, still clutching the last remains of her brother, cried herself to sleep.

***

Zoe woke up to find dozens of texts on her phone, from Sam and others. Most of them were apologies, and only half of those for taking the boots. The rest were the same horrible, empty condolences she’d faced at home. Feeling sick to her stomach, Zoe tossed her phone onto the floor, texts unanswered. 

She stayed there for hours, listlessly staring into space. Vaguely, Zoe wondered what class she was currently missing. It was a few minutes before she remembered it was Saturday. Looking down at the boots still nestled in her side, Zoe wished desperately that there was someone to talk to who understood. 

The only people who might were her parents, but they could hardly bear to look at anything to do with Connor. That was the whole reason his things were stuffed in the basement to begin with. They wanted him safe, but not where they could see. Taking his boots, allowing them out of her protection, how could they understand, much less forgive such a thing? Zoe felt the guilt creep back up her spine, hunching forward under the weight of it. 

But on the other hand, how could she continue like this alone? Glancing at her phone as it lit up once more with cheap condolences, Zoe made up her mind. Forcing herself out of bed, she grabbed her duffle bag from the closet and haphazardly tossed clothes into it, not really looking at what she was packing, just grabbing whatever was on top of the piles that still scattered the floor from her frantic search. A few minutes later she walked out the door, her bag over one shoulder and Connor’s boots pulled tight to her chest.

***   
  


Zoe pulled into the driveway just past two o’clock. Slowly turning the key, she took a steadying breath in the new quiet of the killed engine. Gathering herself, Zoe opened her car door and stepped out, her breath billowing in the cold of the December afternoon. She walked around to the trunk to gather her bag, and realizing it would not be a good idea for her parents to see the boots before she could explain, Zoe carefully tucked them inside her duffle. 

She made her way up the driveway slowly, telling herself it was out of caution for ice. Nevermind the fact that Larry had always prided himself on having the cleanest driveway in the neighborhood. He’d always woken up early, to make sure he shoveled and salted before the other dads. Pushing the memory of when her family’s biggest worry was a snow-covered driveway out of her mind, Zoe reached the front door. In one smooth motion, she pushed it open and stepped through into the warm front hall. 

The house was quiet and Zoe vaguely noticed her mother had gotten a new rug since the last time she was home. Home. It was still strange to think of this new house that way. She’d only lived here a few months before leaving for school and in some ways it felt less like a home than her dorm did. 

“Mom?” she called out, breaking the strange quiet. The dorms were never so silent. “Dad?”

“Zoe?” Cynthia appeared from the doorway of the living room. “What a nice surprise! I wasn’t expecting you to come home this weekend. Didn’t you have a concert?” She crossed the room to pull Zoe into a tight hug.

“The concert was last night.” Zoe managed, smiling thinly as she pulled away. 

“I see. Well, I am glad you decided to surprise us. Your dad will be home soon, he just went to pick up a few things from the grocery store. Do you need any help with your things?”

“No thanks, Mom. I got it.”

“Alright, you get settled in and I’ll go make us some tea.” Cynthia smiled once again, and started for the kitchen.

“Sounds great.”  _ Maybe this would be easier over tea. _

Zoe crept silently down the hall to her room and shut the door softly, leaning against it, giving herself a moment to breath. Slowly, she placed her bag on the bed and unzipped it, flinching as Connor’s boots stared up at her. Setting them aside, Zoe began to sort through the clothes, examining what she had packed for the first time, and hoping that there was at least something that matched enough to wear tomorrow.

Zoe took her time, carefully folding and smoothing each item, avoiding the inevitable moment she would have to face her parents. After only a few minutes however, she heard the front door rattle open and her father’s voice call out, though the words were indistinct from the distance. Steeling herself, Zoe padded down the hall to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to watch Larry lean down to kiss his wife’s cheek. 

“Hey, Dad.”

“Zoe! It’s great to see you. I didn’t know you were coming home today!” Larry grinned and crossed the room to kiss his daughter’s cheek as well.

“I decided last minute.” Zoe admitted, accepting the steaming mug her mother extended. She walked deeper into the kitchen, following Cynthia to the table. The family settled down into their usual seats, all trying to forget that there were too many chairs. 

They passed the next few minutes in quiet chatter about the mundane events of ordinary life, Larry and Cynthia catching their daughter up on everything she had missed. Finally, the conversation turned back to Zoe.

“So, what’s new?” Cynthia asked, smiling warmly over her tea. “How’s that friend of yours, Sam, right?”

Zoe looked at her mother’s warm, soft eyes and relaxed shoulders, so free for the first time in months, and for a moment considered lying. But she remembered the devastating panic, and the ruin she’d made of her friendships, and could not bring herself to do it.

“Actually,” she started, slowly lowering her cup to the table, hands wrapping around it, her gaze following, “it’s not... _ great _ right now. We had...a bit of a fight.”

Cynthia stole a quick glance at Larry, unsure if this was a mother-daughter only talk. She reached out and rested one hand lightly on Zoe’s left wrist. “I’m sorry honey. What happened?”

“...She borrowed something without asking.”

Cynthia relaxed a bit, smiling, “Well that is rather rude or her, but I’m sure it’s not the end of the world. Did she apologize?”

“She did, when she saw how upset I was.” Zoe admitted, shifting uncomfortably. 

“You see,” Cynthia said, smiling as she leaned back into her seat, “it’s going to be fine. I’m sure she feels bad enough. You should just move on and forget about it, honey. There’s no reason to lose a friendship over something so silly.”

“She took Connor’s boots.”

The silence is oppressive.

“What?” Larry looks at her uncomprehending. 

“I-” Zoe choked over the words, “I took Connor’s boots. Months ago. Over the summer. I-” she paused again, taking a steadying breath, before continuing in halting words, “One of the last times I talked to him, I criticized him for always wearing his boots. He made a joke about how they made look like a badass and I-I just snapped at him about being high. I never noticed how-disappointed he seemed until...after. And-”

“Zoe,” Cynthia broke in, sounding heartbroken. But now that the silence had broken Zoe couldn’t hold it back anymore. The words came tumbling out of her mouth, tripping over themselves as she tried to speed through to the end.

“And I  _ know _ that Evan’s note wasn’t his but when I read that he had wanted to talk to me I just-” Zoe gasped for breath between her tears, her voice growing louder and faster, “I just realized that he had  _ tried  _ and I- and I  _ yelled  _ at him, and I  _ know _ it wasn’t real but oh my god he wasn’t wearing his shoes! He wasn’t wearing his shoes! Why wasn’t he-?” Zoe’s screams cut off at Larry’s sudden embrace, dissolving into sobs.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, “baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.” Larry stroked his daughter’s hair gently as she shook against him, his own eyes blurring with tears at the memory her words had brought.  _ His son’s limp stocking feet dangled over the carpet- _

He had never paid attention to that detail before. It’s importance lost in the panic of the moment as he screamed- But to Zoe it had been everything. Larry felt sick to his stomach at the idea that she had been blaming herself all this time.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Zoe croaked against his chest, her voice rough.

“No.” Cynthia’s voice was soft but firm. They both turned to look at her, Zoe lifting her streaked face from Larry’s chest, wiping away tears as she tried to make out what her mother’s facial expression was. 

Cynthia stood slowly from her chair, taking the few steps around the table to where Zoe and Larry stood, still clutching each other. She brought one hand to her daughter’s cheek and Zoe was able to finally see Cynthia’s red-rimmed and devastated eyes.

“No, you have  _ nothing _ to be sorry for. Okay, honey?” she pleaded, looking directly into Zoe’s eyes, “It was not your fault. It was  _ not _ your fault.” Despite the pain in her voice Cynthia spoke in clear determination. For the first time, Zoe felt she could believe it. The relief brought a new wave of tears and this time it was Cynthia who pulled her into a hug, pressing her tightly against her chest as she rocked slowly side to side. A moment later Larry’s arms slid around the both of them. They stood in the kitchen, a swaying huddle, barely supporting each other for a long, quiet time. 

When the tears finally subsided and began to dry on sticky cheeks, they finally drew apart, still clasping arms and hands as they slid back into chairs and wrapped shaking palms around now cold mugs. For a few minutes they sat that way, wiping stay tears and runny noses before Zoe spoke again in a rough voice.

“I’m sorry I took his boots without asking. I just-I felt like I was abandoning him again, just leaving everything down there in the dark-” she broke off, looking at her hands as she began to pick at her nails. 

“I-” Cynthia started before breaking off. She paused for a moment, then stood and left the room. Zoe and Larry glanced at each other in concern and were about to stand to follow when Cynthia returned, clutching a plain bound book in her hands. Sitting back in her spot, Cynthia laid the book down on the table with a gentle reverence. Looking at it more closely, Zoe realized it was more of a notebook or diary than a novel. Stray marks and what looked like a bit of paint marred the dull black cover and the corners of a few loose sheets of paper were sticking out from the pages. 

“I found this, in Connor’s things. I never even knew he still liked art. He gave it up after middle school.” Cynthia whispered, stroking the cover lightly. Hesitantly, Zoe reached out for it. Her mother drew back, allowing Zoe to pull the book toward her and she carefully lifted back the cover. 

Intense eyes stared up at her, drawn in heavy, dark charcoal, solitary against the white page. Zoe gasped slightly, stunned. It was beautifully done. She would have even questioned if it was Connor’s if his name hadn’t been scrawled in the inside cover. She let her finger ghost softly over his signature before turning the page, barely noticing as Larry moved behind her to see more clearly.  

Dozens more sketches filled the pages, varying in medium from charcoal to pencil and ink. There were even a few loose paintings among them. The subjects were just as diverse. Dotting the pages were birds stretched in flight and gnarled tree branches and everyday objects. Several sketches featured the bus stop near their old house, each one showing different people and weather. _He must have gone to sit there often,_ Zoe thought, remembering all the times Connor had wondered back late, refusing to tell where he had spent the day if not in school. 

Zoe’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the drawing of herself. Her face was mostly turned away, staring deeply in the distance, hair falling softly around her shoulders. She looked beautiful, like a heroine in a classic novel, watching over the moors. It took her a moment to realize it was done in colors, though they were very pale. It was one of the very few that wasn’t in shades of gray. After a long time, Zoe turned the paged and froze again, this time at Connor’s own face staring up at her. 

The image was in stark contrast to Zoe’s own. In his self-portrait Connor had replaced the soft, delicate lines with harsh charcoal, his pit black eyes boring into Zoe’s. The other drawings had been beautiful in detail, nearly breathing life. Something about this one seemed wrong. Zoe stared at it for a long time, slowly tracking the ways in which it was different from how Connor really was. He had drawn the jaw too sharp, his face so thin it was almost gaunt. The eyebrows were lower than they really were, too heavy; and his hair was more tangled and ratty than Zoe remembered. But worst of all were his eyes, so dark and intense and too big. At first, Zoe had thought they looked angry but as she stared into them, she realized they were afraid. With a clenched heart, Zoe realized that this was how Connor had seen himself. 

“Why didn’t you show us?” Larry’s voice, though quiet, startles Zoe bad enough to jump. It had been all but silent for so long. 

Cynthia looked at her lap, wincing, “I know. I’m sorry. I know I should have but, I didn’t find it until months after-” she paused, collecting herself, “And part of me felt guilty for finding it, for disturbing his privacy, and the other part of me felt guilty because I was glad to have one last part of him. I told myself that I was protecting you from more hurt by bringing Connor up again, but that was only part of it. I really was just being selfish. I had one last thing that I could discover about him and I wanted to keep it for myself. Like it was a secret Connor had trusted to just me. I’m so sorry. Larry, Zoe,” she finally looked at them again, wringing her hands, “Could you ever forgive me?”

Unable to find the energy or spite to be angry, Zoe simply reached out and took her mother’s hand. “Of course.” she whispered, squeezing it lightly.  

Instead of answering the question, Larry said, “I took his music.” They turned to look at him, waiting for an explanation. Sighing, Larry straightened up, running a tired hand over his eyes.  “I took his iPod. You remember how he still kept his music on that? How he insisted his phone didn’t have enough storage? And he couldn’t be bothered to reconfigure his library anyway?” They nodded, slowly. It had been a habit of his, always carrying around an iPod and a phone. Zoe had told him it was stupid to take both when he didn’t have to but he’d insisted. Eventually she had just dismissed it as another one of his weird habits and forgot about it. She shook herself out of the memories as Larry began to speak again. 

“I snuck it out of the boxes when we were moving. I still don’t know why I did, I was always yelling at him to turn the music off when he was-” Larry swallowed and shook his head, “Anyway, I took it to the store and made up some crap about forgetting the password and they opened it up for me. I’ve been listening to it in the car on my way home from work. Sometimes, I take a ride just as an excuse to be close to him.”

Cynthia let out a shaking breath, nodding at her husband in understanding. She reached across the table and took one of his hands. He squeezed her's lightly to show all was forgiven. The room fell quiet. Zoe looked back down at the sketchbook, lightly brushing her fingers against the portrait. “I think we should get some of these framed, hang them up in the light where they belong,” she said, staring into her brother’s wide eyes, “I think we all need to let Connor back into our lives.”

“I don’t think he ever really left.” Cynthia whispered, a small smile trying to appear from her weary face. She rubbed her thumb gently against the back of Zoe’s hand she still held. 

Larry didn’t say anything, he just reached out and placed his hand over Zoe’s and the book, completing the circle. They stayed there together a long, quiet time while a small piece began to stitch itself back together again. 


End file.
